Trust Me
by Keesha
Summary: Set immediately following Season 1 "Ambush". Callen's team helps him follow the "Doctor's orders."
1. Chapter 1

It had already been a long day but the area was still buzzing with both military and civilians trying to finish their respective tasks so they could call it a night. Amongst the hustle and bustle, two men stood off to one side conversing in the deepening twilight.

"I'll look into it, but no guarantees," the dark-haired sergeant replied.

"Come on," the blond, scruffy male cajoled. "He's just a kid who got in with the wrong crowd. He helped us take this group down. We owe him. I owe him."

"Understood," acknowledged the NCO, "but it is not my call. I have to run it up the chain."

Callen nodded knowing it was the best he could hope for at the moment. Turning, he started to make his way back towards where Jay, the handcuffed prisoner, was seated. As he wearily moved across the forest floor, he unexpectedly lost his balance lurching sideways. His headache flared; the one that he'd been fighting since being hit by the rifle butt. It momentarily blinded him and caused his knees to buckle. A firm, strong hand reached out to steady him. Instinct took hold of Callen and though he was dazed, he immediately stiffened and went into defense mode.

"Whoa, G it's just me," a soothing voice called out. Callen relaxed upon hearing the melodic voice of his partner. Moving in front, Sam placed both hands on the shorter man's shoulders. Peering into his teammate's face as best as he could in the gathering darkness he noted, "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Callen automatically replied, though his slightly slurred speech contradicted his words.

Before Sam could get into it any further, Kensi approached them. "Can I cut in your dance boys?" the dark-haired woman quipped, mocking the position in which she found them.

Sam immediately dropped his hands from Callen's shoulders, who in turn stumbled again before regaining his equilibrium. For a second time, Sam reached out a hand to assist, but the 'back off' look in Callen's baby blues quickly made him drop his offer of aid.

"Here," Kensi said holding out two bottles of water and two protein bars. "Figured you guys haven't eaten since this morning." She tossed a protein bar and bottle of water at Sam who deftly caught them. However, after taking a second look at Callen she gently handed him his items. Gazing into his eyes, she came to the same conclusion as Sam. "You don't look so good Callen."

Breaking eye contact by ducking his head, Callen shoved the protein bar in the back pocket of his dirt-covered jeans before giving his full concentration to opening the water bottle. "I'm fine," he muttered struggling to open the vessel.

"Want help with that?" Kensi asked lightly.

"No," he snapped finally uncapping the recalcitrant bottle. "It's these new environmentally-proper, earth saving caps. They're small, hard to open," he clarified as he took a swig.

Sam did an eye roll accompanied by a 'yeah right' snort.

"Well ah right… Renko and I are done here. Unless you have something else for us, I think we'll head out," Kensi said.

Callen nodded in concurrence, which turned out to be a bad idea as the scenery around him started to tilt and twirl; the water he swallowed threatening to come back up. "Go," Callen, grunted thru clenched teeth.

Kensi glanced worriedly at Sam. "You headin out soon?"

"Yes." "No," came the simultaneous answers.

"No," Callen repeated giving Sam another glare. "I have to wait 'til I hear back on Jay."

"And," Sam added watching his partner struggling to pretend he was fine, "while we are waiting for that decision to be made, G and I are going to make a visit to that nice medical truck over there with the bored looking EMT."

"Oh no we're not," Callen belligerently retorted.

"Oh yes we are," Sam forcibly insisted reaching out and clamping a firm hand on Callen's bicep.

Kensi smirked at the interchange before turning serious. "Really Callen, let them check you out. You took a nasty hit to the head."

"Yeah, even though there isn't much in there to get damaged," Sam quipped. "Do you want to make a run for it; that was a really dumb idea G," Sam said referring to an earlier not so brilliant suggestion from his partner.

"Hey," Callen said defending himself. "It was no stupider then you driving that truck in when I had a hostage and a gun!"

"And I'm so out of here," Kensi said walking away.

The two men glared at each other for a few seconds. "Come on," Sam said breaking the contest and giving Callen a little shove; that was just enough to start the carousel up again. "Uh oh," Callen groaned.

"Come on. We ARE going. End of story. Don't make me have to carry your sorry little white ass over there," Sam said giving Callen another nudge towards the EMT truck.

"Don't …do…. that!" Callen grimaced

"Callen, you have to …"

"Stop pushing me before I…" Callen finished his sentence by vomiting.

"Yuck," Sam said taking a side step away. Callen rested with his hands on his thighs gathering strength before slowly straightening up. He opened the water bottle and used some of it to swish out his mouth.

"You done?" Sam asked drily.

"I dunno. Maybe," Callen replied contemplating the horizon and trying to stop it from gyrating.

"You capable of walking over to the EMT. Or shall I carry you?"

Callen snorted. "I'll walk. But thanks for the offer."

The two men slowly headed across the landscape to the medical truck.

"This is a waste of time you know," Callen complained. "What will he tell me I don't know? I have a minor concussion with the usual headache, nausea and vomiting. Isn't my first; betting it won't be my last."

Sam continued shepherding his partner towards the truck. "You have a major concussion and you're giving me a headache."

"Minor and you aren't doing great things for my head or stomach with all your yakking and shoving."

Upon reaching the medic, Sam spoke first to ensure accuracy because he knew Callen would not provide the truth. "My partner took a serious blow to the top of his head from a rifle butt. There is a laceration and it was bleeding heavily. He was unconscious for fifteen minutes."

"What?" Callen said annoyed as he turned to face his partner "Fifteen minutes? " You told me I was out for two, three minutes at the most."

"I lied. I didn't want you to worry while we were trying to escape. I needed you focused. Fifteen minutes Doc," Sam continued. "And he has a headache, dizziness, and nausea."

"Fifteen minutes," Callen echoed not letting it go. "Wow. Fifteen minutes. No wonder I feel like crap. I'll bet you spent the entire time kicking me."

"Not the whole time," Sam relied offhandedly. "Some of the time I only poked you in the ribs with my boot cause my leg got tired."

"Anything else you would like to confess my dear partner who watches out for my back."

"He also might have a temperature," Sam added re-addressing the medic.

"A temperature! Why do you think I have a temperature? Have I said I'm hot? Do I look hot?"

"Headed, yes" Sam snorted.

Frustrated and annoyed with the whole situation, Callen folded his arms across his chest looking away.

"Gentlemen," interrupted the EMT. "If I may get a word in edge-wise, perhaps do my job?"

"You got a thermometer Doc? Preferably one that you stick up the…"

If looks could kill, Callen would have scored a direct hit on Sam.

The medic had enough and finally took control of the situation. "You," he said in his best authoritative voice, "Sit there," gesturing to the wide ledge on the medical truck. "And you," he commanded pointing at Sam, "Stand over there." The EMT's tone startled them both into compliance.

"Better." He maneuvered the light so he could look at Callen's scalp. "OK. How long ago did you receive the blow to the head?" the medic asked as he examined the wound.

"About 8 hours ago," Sam answered.

The medic glanced over at Sam. "Would you mind letting him answer a few questions? I need to assess his mental state."

"This oughta be good," Sam, said crossing his arms over his chest. Callen glared at everyone. It was clear he wanted to leave but he had not figured out an exit strategy yet.

"Have you had any headaches, dizziness or vomiting since receiving the blow on the head?" the EMT addressed Callen.

Callen glanced towards Sam waiting for him to reply. Sam pointedly looked away.

"Maybe," Callen replied noncommittally.

"These are yes or no questions if you please. Now again. Headaches, dizziness, vomiting."

"Yes. Yes. Yes," Callen answered sullenly.

"I see. What is today's date?"

"October 12, 2010."

"Who is the President of the United States?"

"Obama"

"And what state are we in?"

"A mess."

"No jokes please. Your name is?"

"If I told you I'd have to kill you."

The EMT sighed. "Let's try that again. Do you know your name?"

"No"

Sam piped up before the EMT decided to strangle his partner. "He actually doesn't know his name. Long story." Callen gave the EMT a look of concurrence.

"OK. Let's skip that one," the medic said clearing his throat. "On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst, rate the severity of your headache."

"Two," Callen quickly replied.

Sam cleared his throat.

"Well maybe four."

Sam coughed.

Callen glared but upped his answer. "Six. But that is as high as I go."

Sam umphed, once more, loudly.

"Ok, it is an eight and climbing. You happy over there?" Callen grouched at Sam.

"Hey, I didn't say a thing," Sam replied.

The medic whipped out a pen flashlight and examined Callen's eyes. Callen flinched away from the beam of light and the EMT gave a slight negative shake of his head.

The medic turned to Sam. "And would you like to rate the dizziness and vomiting?"

Sam glanced over at Callen who was looking rather green around the gills since having the bright light shone in his eyes. "Dizziness. Comes and goes," Sam said, watching his partner. "Maybe a five with peaks to seven. And the vomiting…"

Suddenly Callen bent over and dry-heaved.

"Is increasing," Sam finished. "What is that, two times?"

Callen held three fingers in the air, still hunched over.

"Three," Sam translated.

"I see," he said turning back to his patient. "I suppose if I told you to go immediately to the hospital and submit yourself for scans you would ignore me," the EMT stated matter-of-factually.

"Pretty much," Callen replied.

The medic looked over at Sam and said, "And I don't suppose you can make him go?"

"What do I look like his mother?" Sam snorted.

"Right," the medic said. "Ok. Mr.…" he paused awkwardly before continuing. "It is my medical opinion you have a severe concussion and you should go to a facility with better equipment and be evaluated. However, since it seems that is not going to happen, I highly recommend," he turned to directly address Sam "that someone keep a close watch on you for the next twenty-four hours. If any of the symptoms get worse, or new ones appear, you should immediately seek medical assistance." The medic turned back to his truck and started rummaging through a drawer. "Do you have any allergies?"

Callen narrowed his eyes. "Allergies?"

"I would like to clean out that wound before releasing you," he replied as he laid supplies out on a tray. "Please sit here," he indicated to a seat in the truck.

As Callen moved to the indicated area, Sam moved closer for support because Callen hated to be treated by Doctors. The EMT continued to place items on the tray, the last being a small bottle and a syringe. When Callen spotted the needle, he immediately started to slide off the seat in an escape attempt. Sam, however, clamped a hand on his shoulder, pinning him in place. The medic turned around, "Is there a problem?"

"I don't do needles," Callen said with a twinge of trepidation in his voice.

"And I don't want to lose my license. That is a nasty cut and I would like to administer an antibiotic to help ward off infection. Standard protocol."

"Gee Doc, Don't you have a bigger needle. One that could be administrated in another region a bit further south?" Sam said, unable to resist tormenting his partner.

"Oh you'd like that, wouldn't you," Callen retorted momentarily turning his attention away from the needle.

"For all the times I have had to save your skinny white butt, you bet."

"Are you two married?" the EMT joked stopping both men dead in their verbal tracks. Callen and Sam were used to being accused of that by their teammates but never by an outsider. In the moment of confusion and silence, the EMT reached out, swabbed Callen's upper arm and quickly administered the shoot.

"Ouch, that hurt" Callen whined, pulling his arm away and rubbing the injection site.

"Baby," Sam accused.

"Don't rub it" the EMT instructed Callen who reluctantly stopped.

After the shot, Callen sulked, Sam grinned, and the medic cleaned the wound.

"Close monitoring, next 24 hours. If the symptoms get worse, you must seek immediate medical care. If he wants to sleep, you must wake him every 15 minutes for the first 2 hours, then every half hour for the next 2 hours. After that, hourly waking will suffice."

"You have to be joking Doc! Do you know what it is like to wake him?"

Sam glared at Callen. Callen glared at Sam. The medic shook his head and went on. "And, every time you wake him you have to test him."

"Test? There is a test? I'm not taking any test," Callen stated flatly.

"Yeah Doc. Do I look like a school teacher to you?" Sam queried.

Ignoring them, he went on. "The acronym to help you remember the steps is AVPU. First, is the patient alert? Second, does the patient respond to voice? Third, does he respond to pain or touch? And last is he unresponsive in any way."

Sam perked up a bit. "So let me see if I have this straight. I have to wake my partner, ask him a question, and then punch him to make sure he is responsive."

"That's not quite what I said…" the EMT started.

Sam turned his 1000-watt smile on Callen. "I was wrong; this is going to be fun."

Callen slid off the ledge and started to walk away.

"Thanks Doc," Sam said reaching out to shake the medic's hand.

The EMT tried one more time. "He really should go to the hospital."

"He won't Doc. I'll take good care of him," Sam replied seriously, as he watched Callen walk off. "He is my partner and I'll protect him, even from himself."


	2. Chapter 2

Upon their return to headquarters, Sam bee-lined for the bamboo armchair and newspaper, while Callen took off his boots and plunked down on the leather sofa. He was tired to the bone and the only thing he wanted was to lie down and take a long winter's nap. He hoped his partner wasn't planning to have an extended conversation on his medical condition as he was in no mood for it. Thinking tactical diversion, Callen threw a well-deserved complement, hoping to side track Sam just enough so he could fall asleep. "Nice job, Special Agent Hanna."

While Sam basked in the glow of the words of praise, Callen settled deeper into the couch and closed his eyes with a contented sigh. Peace and quiet descended upon lounge. Suddenly the large screen monitor in the corner of the room flashed to life with a close up picture of the irresistible and irrepressible Henrietta Lange.

"Mr. Hanna! What are you doing?" demanded the loud and somewhat strident voice of the operations manager. Sam bolted upright in his chair like an errant parishioner caught sleeping in church. "Mr. Hanna," the voice rang out impatiently for a second time. "This is not the time for daydreaming. You were given a directive by the EMT and I expect you to carry it out with all the attention to detail you do with any mission."

'Oh damn,' thought the groggy Callen who kept his eyes firmly shut. The omnipotent Hetty had somehow found out what the quack medic said. This did not bode well for his plans of a nice long siesta.

"For shame Mr. Hanna, letting Mr. Callen bamboozle you with same fancy words of praise so you would leave him alone to sleep. "

Since she had done it so many times in the past, Sam didn't even question how Hetty could have over-heard what Callen had said earlier; he just accepted it. He glared over at his partner who appeared to be fast asleep on the couch.

"I want the 24-hour watch carried out on Mr. Callen per the Doctor's orders," Hetty continued breaking Sam contemplations.

Sam swore he saw G flinch on the couch.

Hetty continued, "You will have the first watch since you are already in position. Mr. Beale, will you stop slinking behind that column."

Eric sheepishly walked in. "Sorry Sam, she made me switch her down here."

"I heard that Mr. Beale. You shall have the second watch. Kensi will do third shift and yours truly will take the final leg when I return from Washington. I have already called Kensi and apprised her of the situation. Are you gentleman clear on the mission at hand?"

Sam and Eric nodded wordlessly.

"Good. Now I suggest you go find your charge before he gets too far."

Sam and Eric quickly glanced over at the couch only to discover it was empty.

"And Mr. Hanna, you might want to think about the use of handcuffs." Hetty said with the slightest of smirks. The screen went blank and silence settled over the room.

"This isn't going to be easy is it," Eric stated plaintively.

"Nope," Sam concurred rising from the chair. "And Hetty might be right about the handcuffs."

"Really? You would actually handcuff Callen to like a pipe or something?"

"If the 'mission' calls for it. Come on. Lets' find him before he gets too far. If he gets out of this building we are toast."

The men headed off in opposite directions to search the building. Callen, who had only moved a few feet away behind an arch decided to go back and 'hide' on the couch. The building wasn't very big and he knew wherever he hid they would eventually find him. Therefore, he decided to hide in the last place they would look, the place they started. If he was lucky, he might catch a few minutes of sleep before the torture began.

NCISLA-NCISLA-NCISLA-NCISLA-NCISLA-NCISLA-NCISLA

Having turned headquarters inside out without finding Callen, Eric and Sam met back in the bullpen to discuss their next move.

"OK," Eric rambled. "We'll go check the tapes of the outside surveillance cameras. If Callen left the building, he was caught on camera. There is no way in or out of here that is not monitored. Then we will track his GPS. He probably still has his phone on him. Of course," Eric rattled on, "if he ditched his phone that could be a problem. Knowing Callen, he is smart and he would get rid of the phone ASAP so that probably is not a good way to go."

Sam thought he heard a faint noise coming from the lounge. Peering over Eric's shoulder, he spotted the source of the sound: his partner snoring peacefully on the brown leather sofa.

"Damn," Sam swore.

"No, no Sam," Eric blathered. "Don't worry. The cameras will work. No sweat. Well OK there might be a little work involved 'cause Callen does know how to disappear if he wants and he probably could avoid cameras, but hey, didn't you say he was hurt or something? So maybe he is not thinking clearly and…"

"Eric, forget it."

"I tell you this will work Sam. We just have too…"

"Eric," Sam said strongly. "Shut up and turn around."

Puzzled and a little hurt by Sam's dismissive tone, Eric reluctantly did as he was instructed and saw Callen sleeping on the couch.

"Oh," Eric said flatly. "Maybe we won't need the cameras after all."

"No, perhaps not," Sam agreed. "Get up G," he growled as he walked over to poke the prone man on the couch.

"Go to hell," came the muffled reply.

Eric took a few steps away from what he judged was soon to become a war zone.

"I'm going to ask you one more time nicely G…get up."

Eric could not hear Callen's reply, but judging by the expression on Sam's face it was not the appropriate response. Eric felt like a moth drawn to a flame, dying to see how this was going to play out, yet not really wanting to be close enough that he was caught in the crossfire. Involuntarily, he took another step… backwards.

"Now listen here G. Hetty has given me a direct order and you know what, I am not in the mood to disobey her and get myself a new one ripped over your sorry hide. If it comes down to deciding who is scarier, Hetty, or you, I'm sorry but Hetty wins. Now sit up or I am going to drag you up by the scruff of your neck."

Callen lay there debating how far he could push his partner. Sam was sounding serious with mild undertones of stress building in his voice. G decided he probably should not press his luck any further so with a grunt, he rolled over and slowly sat up.

Eric let out a loud sigh of relief, which earned him a sharp glance of disapproval from Sam and Callen.

"Ah right. Well I'm just going to…since it is not my turn…like go upstairs for now… until it is my turn to babysit," Eric prattled earning him a scarier glare from Callen. "I didn't mean babysit in the true sense of the word. You know but like… Ah I think I'll leave now." The techie ran up the stairs like the wind.

Callen switch his gaze from the retreating back of Eric to Sam. "I'm up," he said petulantly. "Are you happy?"

Sam grunted. Both fellows glared at each other in a battle of wills before Sam finally broke the silence. "Are you going to behave?"

"Behave?" Callen echoed back innocently.

"Yes. Behave. Stay awake. Not cause problems. Not be a pain in my butt for the next," Sam consulted his watch, "12 hours."

"Need to brush up on your math skills there pal," Callen said putting his feet back up on the couch "Your watch ends in 6 hours."

"How stupid do you think I am G?" Sam snorted. "No way am I turning you over to Eric. No telling where you would get off too and that would traumatize the kid." Sam saw a flicker of resentment in Callen's eyes for having his next move already countered.

"It is you and me for the next 12 hours and then the hand off to Kensi. I know she can keep you in place. And then of course the final leg with Hetty," he said with a broad smile.

"You don't have to be so damn cheerful about it," Callen grumbled.

Sam couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he walked over to the couch and swatted G's feet back onto the floor. Callen grunted but made no move to reposition his feet again. Satisfied, Sam crossed back to the armchair. "Ok, what shall we do?" he asked as he sat down.

Callen settled back into the cushions, arms across his chest defiantly. "You're the tour director on this ride. You tell me."

"Would you like to read the newspaper?"

"No. I have a headache."

"OK, how about paperwork. I'm sure you have some to catch up on."

"HeadACHE."

"Well what about food. I am starving."

"Nausea. "

"But I'm hungry," Sam insisted.

Callen stared Sam straight in the eye. "You so much as eat a cracker in front of me and I promise you I will vomit all…over…you!"

"Well you should drink; your are probably dehydrated"

"Sure. Beer. Cold."

"Water," Sam returned pushing out of the chair heading towards the kitchen.

"Sam," Callen whined.

"OK. I'm a good sport. I'll find some nice ginger ale. That is soothing. My mother always gave me ginger ale when I did not feel well."

"You're not my mother," G grumbled.

"You didn't have a mother. You were raised by wolves," Sam shot back.

"Oh nice. Kick me when I am down, anything else you'd like to add to hurt my feelings some more." Callen quizzed.

"No. I'm good," Sam replied walking out of sight.

Callen sat on the couch thinking forget this crap. He was so out of here. He started to get to his feet when a wave of dizziness dropped him right back down. Before he could get his wits about him to make a second attempt, Sam came back in the room bearing a glass of ginger ale.

Sam walked over and placed the glass on the side table near the couch. Reaching into his back pocket he swiftly removed a pair of handcuffs and chained Callen's right wrist to the metal scrollwork behind the couch. It was over before Callen could blink.

When it dawned on him what his partner had just done, Callen was stunned. "I can't believe you did this!" he said shaking the handcuff and rattling the ironwork.

"I told you not to go anywhere and you didn't listen."

"I didn't go anywhere."

"Yeah, but you tried. It is not my fault you did not succeed," Sam finished as he sauntered back to his armchair.

Callen shook the handcuff again. "This is so not comfortable. And you cuffed my right hand. How am I supposed to drink the soda? I'm right-handed."

"Adapt."

"What if I have to go to the bathroom? And don't you dare tell me to adapt. Are you going to keep me chained here all night?"

"Only 'til Kensi gets here. Then it is her problem how to contain you. "

"What did I ever do to you," Callen sulked.

"Now that would be one way to kill the next," Sam checked his watch, "11 hours and 15 minutes. Listing all the ways, you have wronged me. Shall we do it chronologically or alphabetically?"

Looking defeated, Callen sank back on the couch.

Sam features and tone soften. "We are concerned for you G."

Callen's eyes softened, trying to accept but having a hard time pushing past all those years of being a non-entity and the associated walls he built to protect himself. With a fair degree of sincerity he softly replied, "Thanks."


	3. Chapter 3

Kensi walked into the bullpen and upon laying eyes on Callen and Sam, wanted to turn around and immediately leave. She didn't know what transpired over the last 12 hours, but both agents looked worse than when she had left them in the field. Kensi had seen Marines returning from combat zones that looked better than Sam. Sam had a few marks on his face that looked suspiciously like darkening bruises and his whole being radiated exhaustion. Callen fared no better; in fact Kensi thought he looked worse now than he did lying in that hospital bed after being shot. Trying to make the best of a bad situation, she threw on her mega-watt smile and cheerfully walked into the bullpen. "Hey guys. Time for a new jailer."

Sam and Callen glared at her and Kensi decided levity was not the order of the day. Ok, then straight to business. "I'm here to take over Sam. Anything I need to know?"

"A few things. See that broom handle over there? When you want to wake him up for a medical check, poke him in the ribs with it… really hard. Whatever you do, don't get in fist range."

"I told you it was an accident. I didn't mean to punch you but you startled me."

"Five times G! You punched me five times before you figured out who I was?"

Callen had the graciousness to look ashamed while he muttered, "Ok, maybe one or two were on the deliberate side. But you were so damn cheerful every time you had to wake me up. It really was not right."

"And," Sam continued, "If he has to use the men's room, tell him tough; hold it."

"Hey now, that really was an accident. I told you not to make me 'adapt'. How was I to…" but Sam cut him off by holding up a palm.

"We won't EVER go there."

Kensi cleared her throat. "Alright then. Ah are the handcuffs really necessary?"

Sam pushed himself out of the chair with a grunt, and then quickly headed towards the door. "Your choice," he called over his shoulder. "Key is on the desk. Hetty's due back in 6 hours. If you lose him you'd better find him before than or you have to explain to her what happened. Have fun!"

"Any other instructions?" she queried but Sam had already departed.

Kensi glanced over at her superior who was sitting with a rather innocent demeanor. He lifted the handcuff and gave it a little rattle.

"I dunna know Callen. Sam knows you better than me. If he thought it was necessary…"

Callen scowled but did not push the issue with his junior agent yet. He settled back down on the couch preparing to go back to sleep.

"Ah how often do I have to wake you up and make sure you are OK?" Kensi queried Callen since Sam had already left.

"Don't have to," Callen mumbled drifting back to sleep. "Past that stage."

Kensi pondered his answer. Somehow she did not think it was correct but then again she really wasn't sure. She looked at the door but Sam was long gone. Being resourceful, she decided she would go Google it on her computer. "I'll be right back G."

Cracking his eyes, he pitifully held up his handcuffed wrist. "Could you please take this off? It is chafing." She saw a streak of red before he quickly dropped it back down. "Oh geez Callen, sure," she said as she retrieved the key and opened the cuffs.

Callen threw her a grateful smile and quickly covered his "bad" wrist with his good hand as if to massage it. "Thanks Kens," he said rolling over and snuggling into the couch.

"No problem. I'll be right back. I am just going to ah check my email."

Callen's only answer was a delicate snore.

Kensi walked over to the bull pen and went to log into her machine. Rats, her CAC card was in her wallet in her locker. Strolling past Callen, who was fast asleep on the couch, she headed into the locker room to retrieve her card.

Callen had to make a quick decision. Lock Kensi in the locker room (no pun intended) or disable the network so she could not Google the medical information on concussions. It really wasn't a hard decision as a pissed of Kensi was a dangerous Kensi. She'd easily figure out it was he who locked her in the room and when she did get out there would be hell to pay. However, she might not figure out he trashed the internet connection if he were quick. He barely got on the couch before she re-emerged.

Kensi gave a small contented smile as she strolled past her patient who, not cuffed, was still where he was supposed to be like a good obedient child. Chalk one up for her. Kindness works every time. Sitting in front of her screen she logged in and tried to access the Internet. No go. Frowning, she tried a few different approaches with no luck. She debated calling Eric at home but that seemed a bit unnecessary as it was the middle of the night. Oh well, she'd trust Callen at his word.

The rest of her shift went quietly with Callen sleeping the whole time. She caught up on her reading and felt overall it wasn't such a bad experience being the "babysitter", though not that she'd ever say that to Callen's face. Kensi was feeling pretty good when the door suddenly burst in and Hetty's strident voice asked "What's going on here!"


	4. Chapter 4

"You thought one of the most sophisticated networks in LA was down! "

Kensi had the sense to hang her head and look truly miserable; it was no act.

"Oh Ms. Blythe, don't look like a dog kicked to the curb. I don't blame you. It was clearly his fault," the little diminutive demon said as she rounded her Gorgon stare on Callen.

Callen did a quick debate in his head on defiance vs. chagrin and decided on chagrin and schooled his face to look accordingly.

"At-uh Mr. Callen. Your charades don't work on me. Knock it off and you can consider that a direct order."

Callen immediately straighten up on the couch letting his trademark half smirk adorn his face.

Hetty let out a huff as she turned back to Kensi. "As I was saying, I do not blame you Ms. Blyth because it was an unfair situation I had to put you in. To be asked to watch ones team lead and make him keep in line when he clearly doesn't want to means you have to break the chain of command. This is clearly not the way one normally operates in the field where obedience might be the difference between life and death. The military is built on this principal." Rounding back on her couch bound bad boy she added "And shame on you Mr. Callen for putting your teammate in such a situation. Not cool."

Callen's smirk slid off his face and was replaced by a look of sincerity. "She's right Kensi. I used my position to take advantage of the situation, counting on you reacting as you were taught. I'm sorry."

Kensi fidgeted not really knowing what do say or do and was ever so grateful when Hetty said to her she could go. Kensi headed for the door like a heat seeking missile on target, happy to be released.

"Now, Mr. Callen it is just you and I." He wouldn't swear to it but he also thought he heard her add, "Let the games begin." Callen slouched down a bit further on the couch.

"Now, how long has it been since you were hit on the noggin?"

Callen wasn't really sure anymore. The only thing he was sure of is that whatever happened next was going to seem like an eternity.

"Have you eaten anything since your accident? You really should. I think we'll start with a nice cup of tea. How does that sound?"

Callen nodded his head numbly like that kid in the 'Christmas Story' being told by Santa Claus he wants a football for Christmas. Callen didn't think he actually wanted a cup of tea but his head nodded anyway.

"Good. Now you sit there quietly while I go prepare it." Hetty confidently clip-clopped away assured that her charge would do exactly as told even though he gave the rest of his teammates such a hard time; such was the power of Hetty.

Callen couldn't believe he just sat there like a well-trained dog waiting for his master's return. Since he really had nothing better to do, he took catalog of how he was feeling for he felt sure the mini-ninja would ask upon her return. His head was still pounding though it had lessened considerably. Tired, oh yes he was still very tired. Nausea had decreased and maybe there was actually something close to a hunger pain happening.

Hetty returned with her china tea set, steam wafting out the spout of the flowered pot. What a picture they made; the beat up, unshaven, primal male carefully holding a china tea cup and the dainty, prim and proper, perfectly couture elder female serving. Even a good British comedy would have a hard time explaining that scenario.

"So, Mr. Callen, how do you feel?"

G took a minuscule sip of his tea and paused to see if it was going to stay in place. When it did not appear it was going to come back for a second showing he answered. "Better. My head is still pounding, I'm tired and feel like I could sleep for a week, well make that 8 hours but the room has stopped spinning and the tea is staying put, overall improvement I'd say. In fact," Callen added warming to his subject, "I really think I am fit enough to be left alone."

Hetty's sweet little smile slid onto her face as she made little tut, tut noises. "I don't think so Mr. Callen. After all, I flew across the entire United States to take care of you. "

Callen muttered under his breath, "I didn't ask you to."

The all-knowing and hearing, Hetty replied, "Of course you did not ask; you never ask for help and that is your fatal flaw. There is no shame in needing a little assistance now and then."

"I grew up with no one to rely on; it was just me and…"

"And now you have a whole team who you can trust, rely on, people who have your back and believe it or not care deeply about you and your welfare."

Scowling at her, he ran his hand cross his face and through his hair, wincing when he brushed over his wound. Hetty sat back in her chair, sipped her tea and waited until Callen finally blurted out, "I know, but it is not easy. I am not programmed that way." After a pause he whispered, "I wish I could, but I can't."

"Oh you can and you must. You are part of a team, their leader, and you have responsibilities to them and yourself. It is your job, as their leader, to keep the whole team safe."

"I would do whatever it takes to keep them safe. You know that Hetty."

"I said keeping the whole team safe, which includes you. Putting yourself in dangerous situations and excluding them is not safe for them or you."

"So you want me to sit on the side-lines and send them into battle instead? Is that how I stay 'safe'?"

"I suspect you'd find a way to get yourself in trouble even from the sidelines. No, what I am saying is you are part of a team and when used correctly, the strengths, and yes the weakness, of a team get greater results than that of one man. You have to embrace that…ingrain that… use that, Mr. Callen."

"A man who won't die for something is not fit to live."

"So said Martin Luther King Jr, but perhaps you'd be better contemplating this one 'Dying is easy, it's living that scares me to death'."

Callen racked his brain but couldn't come up with the author. "Winston Churchill?"

Hetty shook her head no. "Annie Lennox, Scottish singer-songwriter, political activist and philanthropist"

Callen still looked puzzled.

"From the Eurythmics…1980s…Sweet Dream (Are Made of This). Would you like me to hum a few bars?" Hetty cleared her throat in preparation.

"Ah, no, no thanks, got it." After a pause, Callen sat back with an incredulous look on his face. "You quoted a rock star to me?"

"I referenced a political activist and philanthropist… who also happens to be a rock star."

"And you know her personally."

"I first met her when she was at the Royal Academy of Music. She was a rather shy and lonely girl back then. I think the last time I saw her was at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert in Oslo, Norway, 2007."

"Is there anyone you don't know…never mind, don't answer that."

"Are we done with this tangent? Shall we get back to the real matter at hand, your blatant disregard for your own safety, the stress that places on your team, your inability to trust and your wanton attitude towards the whole subject?"

"Geez don't sugar coat it Hetty."

"I have very carefully crafted this team and chose you to lead them. I have handed you, as the team lead, a uniquely crafted set to tools. You, Mr. Callen, are ignoring them and even worse, leaving them out in the rain to rust. If you don't use them properly, keep them honed, then they will become dull and useless."

"Now I am a gardener?"

"Don't deflect. You are a leader. You need to work with and lead your team. You are not the lone wolf anymore. You are the leader of the pack. Act like it before you get yourself or someone else killed!" she replied adamantly.

Callen deflated, his usual bravo gone. The last thing he wanted was for anyone of his team to get killed, he'd rather die first… and he supposed that was Hetty's point. His so called 'death-wish' was going to get someone killed and maybe not him. He mulled this over in his mind, like a dog worrying a bone. It was that word. Trust. It made his toes curl. He was supposed to trust in a world where it had been his only experience that no one could be trusted. Foster parents were to be trusted. They would never yell at you for no reason, lock you in a closet, take you in just for the money, or beat you. Trust in your teachers. They are there to educate you, provide guidance and never mock you, say you are stupid, or lazy. Trust in your friends. They are always there for you. They will never call you names, make fun of that fact you are an orphan, try to manipulate you, beat you up, and shun you. Trust your bosses. They are there to help, guide you, watch out for you, and not use you as a scape goat when things go wrong. Trust.

Hetty sat there quietly, sipping her tea and letting her senior agent work it out, confident he would come to the right conclusion.

Trust, in Sam, the big guy, to have his back; to save his skinny white ass as the man so elegantly put it. He was supposed to trust Sam would always be there; and, if the truth be known, Sam always has been there. Callen tried to think of a time in his partnership with Sam when the man wasn't there and came up blank. It was always him, Callen, who let his partner down. There was a trust issue alright, but it was reversed, Sam could not trust that Callen would have his back. Damn, Callen cursed at himself. How the hell did that happen? He had become someone he couldn't abide… a person that could not be trusted.

And what about Kensi? He'd done the same to her; made it so she could not trust him. Geez, only a few hours he went out of his way to bamboozle her to get what he wanted with no regards to where that left her. Great way to build trust Callen, lie to her, wonderful leadership skills, he mentally scolded himself. Glancing over at the great white owl, he thought he detected the slightest smirk on her tea-sipping façade. She was reading his mind again; he knew it. She knew he finally got her point about 'team', 'trust' and who was not 'trustworthy' on the team. HIM. And the little ninja was over there eating it up.

To prove she was reading his mind, Hetty said "We have met the enemy and he is us."

"Great, now you are quoting cartoon characters to me."

"If the shoe fits…"

Callen threw his hands in the air. "Stop. I give and…," he added quietly, "I get it." He sat back heavily on the couch, head bowed, shoulders drooped, defeat written over every inch of his body. After all these years, he had met the enemy and it was him. How the hell did she expect him to change, to learn to trust someone else when he could not trust himself?

"But you can," said the Ops manager mind-reader. "I know you can or I would not have chosen you. Sam knows you can that is why he will follow you to the ends of the Earth to protect you. Kensi knows and that is why she believes you, even when you are leading her falsely down the garden path. The only person, who does not believe in you, is you."

Callen looked up at her, eyes boring into her, trying to read, convince himself what she said was the truth.

"I realize that after 35 years of lacking trust, that you are not going to become a golden retriever overnight, but I at least want you to move from lone wolf to say, oh I don't know, Canaan Dog."

A small smile played around Callen's lip at the esoteric reference. "Canaan Dog?"

"Canaan Dog. Wild desert dog originally found in the region now known as Israel. Named by Dr. Menzel back in the 1930s, after the Land of Canaan. They were first domesticated to be used by the Haganah, Israel's first defense force. Later the breed spread to other countries to include the United States and in 1997, was accepted by the AKC."

"And you want me to be like a Canaan Dog?"

"Yes, Mr. Callen, it would be a start. The Canaan Dog is a survivor because of his self-reliance and his adaptability. He is very intelligent and learns quickly but he is also territorial and wary of strangers. This makes the Canaan dog an excellent protector of home and family. But, the Canaan must be socialized at an early age if he is to learn to trust his human pack. You, Mr. Callen, are what occurs when the Canaan is not well-socialized at an early age. But have no fear, even an older Canaan, if handled with a firm hand and a loving heart, can learn to trust. Unlike the lone wolf, a Canaan Dog can learn to trust and be a member of the pack. That is what I am asking you to do, trust in your pack mates. Of course I will play the role of the firm but loving handler in your re-socialization efforts."

"Great," Callen quipped. "Where do you come up with these references?"

"I am a well-read person, Mr. Callen. It is only natural I would have, in some point in my career, studied the Israel Defense department and their history, hence coming across the Canaan Dog. In fact, did you know…"

"Enough Hetty. My head hurts as it is. Please. I get it. Trust. I will try, really try but don't expect overnight miracles."

"Of course not. But do expect to get a sharp tug on the leash if you do start to slip. And, praise and maybe even a treat for good work."

"Fair enough. "

"Good, now that that is settled, how about something to eat? I am starving. But first," she said whipping a thermometer out of her pocketbook, "let's check to see if you have a fever."

"I don't know where you plan to stick that but I can indisputably tell you I don't have a fever."

"Now, now Mr. Callen. I'll be the judge of that and should you have a fever we'll simply have to give you another dose of antibiotics," she said pulling a syringe out of her Mary-Poppins bag.

"What do you have a full medical kit in there?"

"Always prepared is my motto."

"Yeh, you, Sam and the Boy Scouts"

"Now, are you going to cooperate or do I have to handcuff you to the wall again like Sam?" she queried pulling a set of handcuffs from her purse.

Afraid to disobey in fear of what else she might pull out of the bag of hers Callen said, "Alright, but only if it goes under the tongue and NOT anywhere else and no matter what it says no shots."

"Well, if you insist. I am perfectly capable of starting an IV and administering the antibiotics that way," she said reaching into her purse again. "But is has been my experience that hurts a lot more than a quick shot." Hetty paused, her hand still in the bowels of her purse, owl eyes blinking at Callen from behind her oversized glasses. "Dare me Mr. Callen?"

Knowing when he was beat Callen shook his head, opened his mouth and started to roll up his shirt sleeve.

"Like I said… loving heart but firm hand is the key. I'll have you domesticated and house-broken in no time" she stated inserting the thermometer under her team leaders tongue. Callen started to reply but Hetty MD held up a crooked finger. "Quiet. We don't want a false reading."

Callen, sat back, shut up and wondered how the hell he ever thought he'd best Hetty.

"After we finish this, I think a quick supervised cleansing, you are a bit ripe you know, a bite to eat and then sufficient time will have passed for a well-deserved rest period, monitored of course." Looking at the pained expression on his face she said with sincerity "Trust me."

The End


End file.
